


Doctor Who - When you meet... Paul McGann

by Samstown4077



Series: When you meet... [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996), Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Eighth Doctor - Freeform, Gen, Paul McGann - Freeform, RPF, Slight swearing, When you meet Paul McGann, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3561944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if you/the read would meet Paul McGann.<br/>Can you be sure it is him. And why does he act, as if he is the Doctor. Because he is an actor, or because...?<br/>From the "When you meet..." Collection. NO SMUT! Adventure and Humour. RPF</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Who - When you meet... Paul McGann

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea like one year ago and never found the time to write it, and then I took the time and wrote it in on go. It's a bit crazy, but you'll not regret it in the end. It's fun and adventure and Paul McGann.  
> I tried to find for each actor a suitable and possible (even its fictional) situation were one could meet up with them. For me Paul McGann seems to be a dorky guy and open to all kind of fun with his fans. And so I came up with this story. Him all being excited and also a bit mysterious.
> 
> I just noticed I should mention my native is not English what will explain the start of this story. You work in a non English land and so you seem the only one with good English at hand.

Your job is not the biggest thing. Sitting in front of a computer, filling out stuff, work with pictures, some photoshop here, some support there. You often joke, you are “the one for everything”.

And somehow you are, but you don’t mind, you like to do new stuff, to escape boredom and also you sometimes meet new people.

On a not so busy day, two colleagues approach you and ask for your help or more for your English. Because you fancy original literature and tv shows, your English is quite good, better as the English of all the others around you. What surprises you sometimes, because you work for a little institution for the government. No big thing, but it surprises you, that people can’t speak good English, and on this day, they ask for help.

There is this man, they need him to ask some question, but he refuses to talk with them because their English is so rotten - and that’s what he said, they tell you. You smirk, well, “I can try. But maybe he has just a bad mood right now, and will not talk to anybody.”

“Give it a try,” it is not a question, but you shrug it off and follow them.

You never have helped as an interpreter, you only have helped to translate little documents people have reached in for further working progress. You follow into an office, with a big work desk at one side, a man, higher paid as you, sits behind it and fiddles with some papers and his computer mouse. In front of him sits another man, you only see the back of him yet.

This must be the _‘delinquenten’_ , you think.

You are nervous, you have seen and heard a lot. People can get angry or be moody, and maybe this guy is, and will not even talk to you or he will and tell you to _‘clear off’_. The faces of your two co-workers had looked peeved when they had told you about him, so you only can guess why he not wanted to talk with them. You know they speak a bit of English, enough to communicate, but maybe this person was special.

“She’s here,” they tell the higher paid person and he smiles encouraging at you and waves you in.

Your eyes flicker to the man in front of the desk, he makes no intention of turning around.

Your boss - let’s call him this - tells you quickly that, he would like you to translate a bit, because they have to ask him some questions about a happening in town he probably has observed. He needs his help, but they have trouble to understand him and at one point he had only frowned at them and had mumbled something about _“get me someone who speaks my language properly”_.

You nod, still nervous, and clear your throat, “Ahm, Sir?” there is a shift in his posture and you can see he turns his head slightly into your direction, it reveals a bit of his profile. You tell him your name, “I am your interpreter for today,” you step closer, around him, so you can see who you are talking to.

And when you do so, the man turns into your direction and now you see how he looks and who he is. You would recognize this man everywhere you go, you know that. There is this slight 5-o’clock shade, the brown hair, slight outgrown with a hint of curls. He has a slender face, and prominent folds by his nose toward his mouth. He blinks at you, his eyes quickly take you in, and he grins, reveals two prominent canines. “Ahw, finally!”

You are frozen for a moment, simply staring at him, mouth half open. The man makes a short twitch with his head, smirks and the only thing you can do is move your mouth, to form almost inaudible one word, “Doctor.”

The other don’t hear it, but he can, he can read the word from your lips and he licks his, and smiles at you in a kind way, and you see him observe the others in the corner of his eyes, before he brings his attention back to you. He looks at you, “What?”

There is a teasing sound in his voice, and you quickly come to senses again, “I mean hello.” And you tell him your name again.

“Oh, you already said that.”

“I did, indeed,” you stare a little longer, and then look at the other three and ask them what they want to know.

“Let’s start with his name,” the one at the desk says and grabs a pen to write it down.

“McGann,” you say at once and notice your mistake, looking at him, as if you search for help.

“How do you know?” one of the others ask. “Do you know this man?”

The question is stern and surely it wouldn’t make a difference, if you would somehow be related to this man, but you feel awkward and stupid and you think the best is, to deny - at least in front of them - that you know him.

“No! I never have met this man before in my life,” it is not a lie.

Paul McGann smirks at you, unseen by the others. It seems he understands what are you saying. Maybe not word for word, but he does, even he maybe only makes conclusions out of the sounding of your words.

“He told me,” you add quickly and the one who seems to mind wants to ask you, when, because there was not much dialogue between you and him. But your boss, who hasn’t listened at all - to busy with the papers - comes to your rescue. “Mc-What?”

“McGann, Paul McGann,” and you spell out his name. At the end you turn toward him and ask him if this is correct - even you know it is.

“McGann,” he repeats. “Better as what I usually use.” He winks at you and you decide not to translate that bit.

Then you have to ask him all sort of question and he answers you them with delight in his eyes and with each question he answers, he adds something you not translate. And with every question, you do the same and so you both have a dialogue in plain sight.

“These guys look rather grumpy,” he makes a little nod into their direction.

“Maybe because they don’t understand what you are saying,” you smirk, a bit afraid they will.

“They should give you a raise,” a chuckle comes out of his throat and he earns a stern expression, because the actual dialogue is not so funny.

“Actually, yes they should,” you bite back a grin.

It’s more like a small talk you both chatter and for a moment you forget that it is Paul McGann in front of you, but he makes you remind it. “You know who I am.”

“Does this surprise you?”

“Well, _they_ don’t.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” you answer disparagingly.

At your job place you know not one soul who watches Doctor Who. You actually know no real person, who watches Doctor Who. It’s not a common show in your country. There are people, but these people don’t watch it. Not the grumpy ones, the grey people you call them.

The interview comes to an end, and they thank him and they thank you for the translation. Someone has to bring the man back to the main entrance and you can sense your chance. “I can do that. It’s on my way anyway.”

And so you do it. In the elevator you gather your courage. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I am literally waiting for that,” the answer surprises you and you sense it means more than you first think it does. For a second you are distracted, but you know time runs out and so you brush the remark aside and ask, “What are you doing here? In this town? In this country?”

You don’t know about any conventions and you are curious why he is here.

“Travelling,” he smiles his all teeth smile and it sounds so natural.

“Travelling?” you play with the word a bit in your head, slowly nodding. Maybe it’s a secret why he is here, you think.

The lift reaches the ground floor and you both step outside. Your inside feels like a riot. You can’t let the man leave, not yet, there are so many more things to ask and to do. Autographs maybe and a picture of course. But you not one of those people who can act on ease with others - much less when it is a celebrity. Have you ever met one? You can’t remember right now, because your brain tries to come up with something to make him stop.

He needs to sign something at the reception desk to get back an identification map, he needed to leave there. It is a little black briefcase. Very simple and the brief moment you see it before he shoves it into his jacket, you think it looks familiar.

“You live here?” he suddenly asks you and rips you out of your thoughts.

“Y-yes.”

“So you can show me some sights, right?”

“Show you some sights?” Did Paul McGann just ask you to show him the sights of your home town? “I have to work, till four.”

“No problem,” he grins again. “I’ll come back later and you show me some sights.”

He holds out his hand, and you grab it, baffled. “Great!” he calls out, turns around and is gone.

You keep standing there for a few more seconds and turn around as if you look for some hidden cameras. This must be a joke or something, you consider.

At four o’clock you reach the main entrance again, and you have thought all day long about your meet up with Paul McGann and you tried to convince you, that he would be there at four, but you also found a lot of good excuses why he wouldn’t be there. You simply not want to be disappointed.

And you don’t get disappointed. When he sees you, a smile spreads over his face and you feel your heart speed up.

“You are here.”

“Of course, I said so,” he claps his hands together. “So what sights we going to look?”

You have to admit to yourself, you missed thinking about it, because you were busy telling you the man wouldn’t show up. “Uhm… how about.. the dome?”

You live in a town with one of the oldest cathedrals in Europe. A massive example of architecture, that lures in tourists from all over the world.

“Yes, let’s do this! Do we need a ride?” he swirls around, on hand in his pockets and you smile at his enthusiasm.

“Yeah, we do, we can take the tram,” and add without thinking, “or do you have-” You stop yourself.

Once you made a promise to yourself, you never would make Doctor Who jokes when you would meet someone of the cast.

“Do I have what?”

“Nothing. We take the tram, couple minutes, we’re there,” you smirk awkwardly, holding your bag tighter, the only thing that gives you still some balance.

You both hop into the tram, toward the city centre and toward the dome. Only three stations and you are there.

“Look!” he calls out, his face almost pressed against the glass of the wagon. One can see the dome, when the tramway crosses the river. You look around, watching the other people, some smile over the man, who seems all excited. “I remember when they had finished it. Huge party! Legendary!”

The looks he now receives change a bit, so yoi step closer and tuck at his jacket, “He is joking, of course,” you say for whatever reason to a man in a suit near by. “Everybody knows, the dome is never finished.”

“No? He looks finished to me,” Paul says pointing out.

You want to explain to him, that there is a saying in this town, that when the dome ever will be finished, the world would come to an end, but the tram stops and he smiles at you in a wicked way and runs off.

“Wait for me!” you run after him and find him by the staircase of the huge train station. “You can get lost here easily.”

“Sounds like an adventure,” he bangs his hand against your upper arm in excitement.

There are the first doubts. You are not sure how to handle the man, “Are you always like this, Sir?”

“You don’t have to call me Sir,” he shakes his head, while you two walk toward the exit, hundred of people crossing your way. “You know who I am, so.”

It comes to you, that he has never introduced himself. Not in the interview, and not later, when you two were alone. You’re not question your sanity - but you remember all this posts on tumblr about _‘look a like celebrities’_ , “Do I?”

You both have reached the outside, the cathedral towers over you and the large square around it you are standing on.

He stops and turns toward you, “You said my name already.”

“But you haven’t.” Do you really believe he is an imposter? For a second you dare to pull out your phone to google his portrait and make a ‘ _line-up’_.

He steps a bit closer to you, a thin smile on his lips, you almost dare to say it is his way of paying you acknowledgement. For what, you can’t say - yet. “Haven’t I?”

“No, you haven’t,” the man has an aura that makes you swallow and makes your blood rush loudly through your ears. Then his strict expression flips into a smile, “Tell me about the dome!” He grabs your arm and pulls you with him toward a large staircase that leads up to the cathedral.

You have no time to think, no time for doubts and no time to wonder about behaviour, “I have to admit I was never good with numbers, so don’t ask me when they started building it, but I can tell you the tale people tell each other.”

“What tale?”

“That the world will end, when the dome ever will be finished,” you point out to the scaffolds around some parts of the dome. The thing is so old, that they not building the thing anymore, but restore and repair bits and pieces all year long. And when they have finished at one corner, they restart with the other. It never really _is_ finished.

You reach the portal that leads into the church. The sun is already going down when you follow him inside. “I don’t think we have to worry about that soon. We still have 5 billion years in front.”

Finally you realize what game he seems to play with you. “You know that out of first hand?” From where you take the cheekyness you can’t say, probably from him, his aura, the way he talks and smiles at you. Mischievously from the beginning.

“Yes,” he says without a breath of hesitation. “You know that I know it, don’t you?”

“Is … is this a game?” you have enough. You need to stop in your tracks. “Are you playing a game with me, Mister McGann?”

“McGann?” he whirls around and walks backwards. “Don’t call me that.”

You will not call him by his first name, even he uses your first name, you can’t do that. There are still manners and more you way too awestruck by him. “How shall I call you then?”

He laughs out loud and his hands waver between you and him. “I know you want to say it.”

The way he looks - again or simply all the time - challenging and daring. He tries to push you to somewhere and you are not sure if you like it.

Yes, you want to call him what he suggests. ‘ _Doctor_ ’. Now you remember you have already called him like this, at the beginning of the interview when you have entered the room it had slipped your mouth, inaudible. You blush over the memory.

“I am not going to say it!” you cross your arms in front of you. It is more now an act out of principle. There has been always a certain kind of stubbornness in you.

“Say what?” he bites his lips and grins.

“You are Paul McGann,” he winces at the mentioning of his name, but says nothing. “I am not a lunatic, asking you to show me your Ta- … spaceship.”

“I could show you-”

“Don’t play with me!” you say a bit too loud, so that an older man turns around and hushes you.

Yet, you want him to do it, but you are too proud to take your words back. You want him to grab your hand and say _‘run’_. That’s what a Whovian wants, isn’t it?

He huffs, shrugs and turns around again to race over to the altar. Shaking your head you follow. You know the eighth Doctor very good, you have listened to almost all the audio adventures and he acts like him.

That’s what actors do, you muse, acting.

Maybe Paul McGann is a bit of a weirdo - in a good way of course. Like John Barrowman, you think.

A couple of minutes go by, while you watch him talking to someone - a priest and they seem to have a nice talk, then he paces toward you, past you and only waves at you, “Come on!”

“Huh? Where are we going?”

“Don’t know, you wanted to show me the sights!” you hear him call over his shoulder, when he leaves the cathedral.

Outside the sun has gone down and it is dark. There are lesser people now, it’s more quiet. You know the clientèle around the area has changed. From working crowed to going out crowd. It’s a Friday and people go for the bars and the restaurants.

For a second you have lost eye contact with Paul McGann and you fear he now has vanished for good, when he grabs your shoulders from behind, “Look!”

You follow his outstretched arm, around the corner into a little darker spot by some staircase that leads toward the river. As if you haven’t gaped enough today, you stand there again, mouth half open and you can’t believe your eyes. There in the shadow, stands something you are familiar with, but you never have seen one before. A Tardis.

It’s a surprise, on the other side, there is probably a reason for it. Its weekend now, and you know about conventions that happen from time to time. This must be a commercial thing.

“How the hell?” you stand in front of it, eyeing it suspiciously. You need a moment, you want that moment. Your first Tardis. Your hand raises and you think about touching it, but at the last moment you retreat again. Turning you look at Paul.

“It’s called Tardis.”

“I know,” you whisper absently. This must be a dream.

And then there is giggling and a sound you know very well. A sonic sound. A sonic screwdriver. Panic arises in you. Paul McGann and you lock eyes and turn around, to catch sight of a group of three girls, eighteen maybe, one has a sonic in her hand and the other wears a Doctor Who shirt. Now you are sure, there must be a convention somewhere. The girls spot the Tardis and spot you both.

“Look!” one calls out.

“Quick!” McGann says and pushes you toward the door.

“What? Inside?”

“Of course, it’s big-”

“-Don’t!” you raise a finger, but your other hand is on the handle and you pull the door open - not believing that the prop will be open, but it is.

Then everything goes very fast. You half step inside voluntary half you been forced from McGann who shoves himself into the small space that ‘spreads’ in front of you and then he pushes the door shut again.

It’s pitch black and you can feel the wooden walls at your back. You close your eyes for a moment, first smiling, than you laugh out loud.

“What? Why are you laughing?” he asks amused.

You give a damn, “I thought it’s bigger on the inside?” you pull out your phone so you both can see at least a bit. The glowing screen illuminates both your faces, and you realize how close you stand to him.

Paul turns a bit and knocks against the wooden wall, “Obviously, she has developed a fault - again. The chameleon circuit might took its duty a bit too seriously.”

“Honestly?” You can’t believe he is still playing this game with you.

“I am sure it’s just a momentary situation,” he leans in toward your ear. “She can be very stubborn.”

His breath hitches your ear and you can feel the little neck hairs of your prickle. You need to get out here, you think.

Then there the girls again. You hear them giggle and chatter in front of the box. They sound as surprised as you has been.

“Oh no,” you look down to the door, where should be a lock. The girls will open the door any second and then they will see you and Paul McGann and then everything could happen. You see yourself on facebook or youtube - your life will be ruined. “What are we going to do?”

He smiles at you, this knowing and daring smile, “I thought you never gonna ask.”

“What?”

He holds out his hand to you, and you follow his motion with your eyes, slowly it drips into your head what he is doing. “We run.”

“We run?” you can say before the doors get pulled open and three girls stare at you. A moment of pure silence, before the girls look at Paul McGann and then they look at each other.

“Oh god!” one exclaims.

“David Tennant!”

That brings you back with a frown, then you give the hand that is still offered to you a last look, before you smile at the man beside you. “Doctor,” and grab for the hand.

He laughs, “Run!”

And with that he pulls you with him, breaking out of the box, right through the middle of the girls. You follow, running, your heart pumping and a delightful feeling spreads around in your body. Aside all denying, this is one of the best things, that ever has happened to you.

“Honestly, David Tennant?!” you look back for a second when you come past the girls, and start to giggle.

You both run over the big square of the cathedral, followed by curious looks of others but neither of you care. His hand is tight around yours, and it makes you feel like a young kid again. This certain feeling of an adventure, your heart racing and all the adrenalin in your veins. You feel like, like you could take over the world.

Panting and laughing you both come to an halt by another corner. You have to lean forward a bit, to rest your hands onto your thighs. All this running - you are not used to it.

“You are mad!” you pant.

“Yeah, a madman with a box,” he ruffles his hair and when you have caught your breath again the feeling of rushing adrenalin slowly goes away and is replaced by another. The parting of the ways.

“It’s late,” you say and it is something you not wanted to say.

He nods, with an expression of melancholy, “Are you sure?”

You bite your tongue, considering his words. Is this the Doctor asking you between the lines to travel with him?

Ridiculous! That’s Paul McGann. End of discussion.

“Yeah,” you have to work tomorrow. You have responsibilities. You can’t go having a blast with Paul McGann. One will recognize him eventually and you not want to be on some English newspaper, with some fake headline. You know about the English tourists, you know it will happen.

“Okay,” he smiles, and holds out his hand once more. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure was mine,” you hold onto his hand for a tick too long. The back of your head is considering something you have waived off a minute ago as ridiculous. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

He gives you one last smirk, and then leaves the way you both have came from. You are left behind, sighing, realizing, you haven’t even asked him for his autograph.

“Fuck sake!” But instead to follow him you turn around and walk over to a little shop by the corner you know very well.

It’s a geek shop with all kind of franchises. You buy your Doctor Who comics there and the owner knows you. You stop by the window and look if there is something new. On a little TV inside you can watch something that looks like a panel from a convention. Ironically it shows Paul McGann, and you laugh.

“Hey!” the owner steps outside to take a smoke and you greet him back. “See something you like?”

“Maybe,” you smile and watch Paul McGann for a bit longer.

The man puffs his cigarette and looks up to the dome at one of the scaffolds, and you say, “They never gonna finish it.”

He chuckles, “Well, they did actually. In 1880.”

You feel how your facial expression drops from smiling into confusion, “What?”

“Yes, that’s actually the official finishing date,” he takes a deep puff from his cigarette. “You should know, you can read about it inside the dome. There was a huge procession and people say it was legendary.”

“Legendary?” you turn around again to the telly. “From when is this? This panel of Paul?”

He steps closer and looks at the TV. “Uhm.. that’s from Comic Con, it’s from today, I think.”

“Today? Are you sure?” you ask with vigor.

“Yes! You know it’s Comic Con. See the logo? It’s the first day, the clip is from today.”

You stare at the screen without looking, the pieces of the puzzle now fall into place. If this man on the screen is Paul McGann… “I...I…”

“You what?”

You twirl around so fast that a muscle in your back aches for a moment, “I have to run!” you breathe.

And that’s what you do. You run, as if your life depends on it. Over the square, that seems to have doubled its size, past the tourists and you can hear someone cheer at you _‘Yeah, run! You go!’_

You are almost there at the corner, when you hear it. The sound, the one and only sound you ever wanted to hear. The Tardis.

“Doctor!” you call out, your side hurts, your bag is heavy and you know you not will make it on time.

You reach the corner almost falling over your feet, your eyes are blurry from the sudden physical exercise. The sound is gone again and you pant heavily. Considering that the sound you have heard maybe was only a cellphone, but when you have found your breath again and your eyes can see again, you can see that the Tardis, this prob, is gone. It has vanished.

“No. No, that can’t be,” you step into the space it had been standing before. Some people pass you and look at you as if you need help. “It’s impossible.”

Instead of crying and regretting you start to laugh, hysterically. Did this really happen? Did you really miss this one and only opportunity?

You turn around and stare over the square, hoping to see someone you know, but you don’t.

And then you go home, because that is the only thing you can do. You not regretting, but from this day on, your are hoping - more than ever.

For the Doctor.

  

**Author's Note:**

> In case you liked this story leave a Kudo or way better a short comment!  
> Consider reading two other "When you meet..." stories I have written. One for Peter Capaldi and one for Christopher Eccleston.  
> Some readers maybe will recognize the Dome as the Dome in Cologne/Germany. But it actually doesn't matter where it is set, I just needed a large place and it played out well in my mind when I planed on writing this.  
> Thanks!


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